


Fires Past

by coldspot



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Quite a lot of sex, Sex, a tad Sterek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:37:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldspot/pseuds/coldspot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek helps Parrish figure out what he is while they spend a long night together. Parrish helps Derek get drunk for the first time.<br/>Stiles does some detective work and elaborates a theory of his own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Somethings

**Author's Note:**

> spoiler for s4: [takes place after Parrish survives the car fire, season 4]
> 
> Contains a theory regarding what supernatural being Parrish is, and it's not a phoenix or a dragon... you've been warned in case you don't like hypothetical spoilers or are very strongly on the phoenix/dragon wagon.
> 
> CH 1: T  
> CH 2/3: E

Derek sat on top of his table with his legs hanging off the side, his arms folded over his chest as he watched Parrish pace his living room.

"So…" Parrish started, staring at the floor ahead of him.

"So?"

Parrish paused his pacing and gave Derek a long puzzled look. “So you’re Derek Hale?”

Derek raised his eyebrows at him. “Wow we’re really starting at square one.”

"You’re the same Derek Hale I found a few weeks ago sitting in a pile of rubble, insisting that he lives there?"

Night time was approaching. The soft colors of sunset settled against the glass of the window behind Derek. Their warmth was a contrast to his casual posture and sarcastic expression."That’s me."

Parrish frowned. “Normally I would say ‘how you’ve aged!’ but I’m not feeling very funny right now.”

Derek shrugged. “It wouldn’t be very funny anyway.”

Parrish took a couple of steps toward him. “So this…” he made a general gesture toward Derek’s body “… is normal for you?”

"It's the right age, but I'm not a werewolf anymore, so that's different.”

"Werewolf," Parrish sighed in trepidation and looked to the ceiling for relief.

"I was born a werewolf. I’ve been a werewolf all my life."

"And now you’re human?"

"Beats me." Derek shrugged. "I’m something."

"I guess I’m ‘something’ too," Parrish said as he leaned against the table next to Derek. "And I’m on a ‘Somethings To Kill’ list."

“On the plus side, it looks like it won’t be so easy to scratch you off that list.”

Parrish huffed a reluctant laugh. “I don’t really want to test it, especially since I don’t even know what I am.”

"Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. You can’t be that special."

"Thanks!" Parrish laughed, but the anxiety of the night churned in his stomach, and his smile faded quickly. His thoughts wondered. Derek was born into this, he thought, and he survived it, and he seems to be used to it.

Derek pushed himself off the table. “You want a beer?” He offered.

“Yeah, yeah I do.” Parrish watched Derek stroll to the kitchen. He was aware that the room had grown still and quiet, and that his shoulders were tense.

When Derek stepped out of the kitchen, he was holding a cold six-pack. “Have you ever been drunk?” He asked as he dropped the beer onto the table.

“Uh yeah,” Parrish said and took the beer Derek handed him. “I'm over 21, I swear.”

Derek twisted the cap off his bottle and raised his eyebrows at him. “I've never been drunk,” he declared.

“You're kidding?”

“Nope. Werewolves can't get drunk. We heal out of it.” Derek took a long swig of his beer and added, “You know what that means, don't you?”

“It means you have shabby tolerance, and you're going to get wasted if you keep drinking that fast.”

“What it means for you,” Derek stressed, “is that maybe you didn't heal from the fire. Maybe you weren't burned to begin with.” He took another drink of his beer – a slower one – and asked, “Did it hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

Derek shot him an unamused look.

Parrish gave a small 'what can I say' shrug.

“The fire, Jordan – was it painful?”

Parrish frowned and looked down at his hands. He took a deep breath. He saw his fingers engulfed in flames. The plastic used to bind his wrists melted over his skin. “I don't remember,” he said quietly.

“It was hot,” Derek started, trying to block the memories of his family's death from his mind, “and terrifying, smelled like burning plastic and leather, and your clothes burned off.”

Parrish drank his beer. “Yeah,” he said and closed his eyes.

“But did it hurt?”

Parrish stayed still and silent for a moment, then he slowly shook his head.

“OK,” Derek said. When Parrish didn't respond, his eyes still shut in the memory, he nudged his chin and ordered, “Come on.”

Parrish finished off his beer and followed Derek out of the room. “What are you doing?” He asked as Derek reached into a cabinet under his bathroom sink.

“I've never heard of anything that's just fire-proof,” Derek said as he lifted a first-aid kit onto the sink, “so let's see if you can be hurt any other way or if you're just invincible.” He opened the first-aid kit and removed a scalpel from it.

Parrish paled. “You look kind of crazy right now.”

“You can do it yourself if you want,” Derek said, handing Parrish the scalpel. “The more you know about what you are, the better you can protect yourself from people trying to kill you.”

Parrish handed the scalpel back to him. “You do it,” he said.

Derek took the scalpel in one hand and Parrish's wrist in the other.

“You know, it's funny...” Parrish stared at his arm as Derek cleaned a small area of his skin.

“What is?”

“He had, uh... he tied a plastic band around wrists. That's how I was bound to the steering wheel.”

“Uh huh,” Derek said as he unceremoniously sliced a cut across Parrish's arm.

“Ah!” Parrish hissed. “No warning?”

Derek watched the blood seep out of the cut. “Well, that answers that,” he said. “Now let's see how fast you can heal.” He reached into the first-aid kit and pulled out a roll of bandages.

“That's it? I could've told you that I bleed.”

“Not necessarily. Beacon Hills brings it out. You might have seemed pretty human until recently,” Derek explained. He dabbed at the cut. “What about the plastic band?”

“What? Oh, uh, it melted around my wrists. I watched it melt, but even when I got out of the car and I knew I was OK, and even after I showered and got changed, I still felt like it was on me.”

“Yeah?” Derek prompted as he wrapped the bandage, sensing that Parrish was reluctant to finish his point. “Do you feel it now?”

“No.” Parrish let out a strained laugh. “When you took my wrists earlier – to look at my nails – that's when it went away.”

Derek taped the bandage down. “Maybe I'm a druid now.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind.” Derek smiled as he replaced the first-aid kit under the sink. “You look like you could use another beer,” he added as he left the bathroom.

Parrish caught the image of himself in the mirror. He looked normal as far as he could tell, and he almost felt normal, too. The beer was helping. Derek was helping.


	2. Fires Present

Derek sat on the edge of his bed and poured another shot of vodka. He held it up in a toast posture, which Parrish mimicked from his spot on the chair. “Here's to...” Derek considered it, “dragons!”

Parrish laughed and tried not to spill his drink. “Dragons!” He agreed, and they both downed their shots.

Derek squinted through the aftermath and motioned for Parrish to hand over his glass for a refill.

“Dragons aren't real, are they?” Parrish asked as he passed his glass.

“No,” Derek said, “but nothing is real until suddenly one shows up here, and then...” he said as he precariously aimed the bottle over the glass.

“Then what?”

“Then it's real,” Derek concluded and spilled vodka over his knee and his bed sheets. “Shit.”

“That's a sign,” Parrish said. He leaned over to take the vodka bottle and shot glass, but Derek held on to them more tightly than he expected. When he looked up, he found Derek staring at him with suspicion.

“You know,” Derek mused, “you're not as drunk as I am.”

Parrish shot him a smile and said, “Hate to break it to you, but that's because you drank more.”

Derek laughed and surrendered the supplies. He flopped back onto his bed and declared, “I feel good!”

Parrish left the booze on the coffee table. “Good,” he said as he strolled back to the bed, “you deserve it.”

Derek pulled himself back into a sitting position. He reached out for Parrish, gripped the outer seams of his jeans and reeled him in. “And how would you know that?”

Parrish felt his heart jump. “Just a feeling,” he said, letting himself get pulled.

Derek slowly ran his palms up the sides of his legs to the hem of his T-shirt. He made eye contact as he lifted the shirt. “I bet,” he said and leaned in to kiss his hip.

Parrish let out a small sigh and nudged himself closer. Derek pressed his hand against his side and dragged the tip of his tongue over the muscles in his stomach. Parrish shivered as the trails dried cool against his warm skin. He felt himself become super aware of every sensation. Derek grabbed his shirt with both hands as he rose from the bed. Parrish lifted his arms as he pulled it over his head and tossed it to the ground.

Derek ran his fingers through his hair and leaned down to kiss him, grazing their lips at first, testing. It was the first time that Parrish saw him hesitate – the first time he showed something less than total confidence all night. For a split moment, they both realized that something big was happening, that this would be more important than they could have ever predicted.

When Derek finally closed the kiss, Parrish grabbed his hips hard with both hands and pressed their bodies together. He ran his hands under Derek's shirt, letting them crawl up his ribs and over his back, then fall gently down to the sensitive skin just at the dip of his spine.

Derek felt himself getting hard. The kiss was hot. The way Parrish clutched at his body gave him chills. His perceptions were slowed by the alcohol, and he couldn't quite tell where each touch started or ended. He could get lost in this. He grabbed Parrish by his belt buckle and turned him toward the bed. He gently nudged him down onto the mattress and covered him with his own body, keeping one hand firmly fastened to the buckle. He kissed him again, deeply and thoroughly, as he dragged his fingertips down his crotch.

Parrish moaned and craned his neck back as Derek traced his tongue down his throat. His jeans felt tight, and Derek was teasing him by running his fingers lazily over the zipper. “Derek...” he sighed, and he felt the satisfied grin against the crook of his neck.

They smelled like alcohol, both of them, and so did the bed where Derek spilled his drink. In the back of his mind, Parrish wondered if the booze explains why this feels so intuitive and gratifying. He liked that explanation. It was simple, people use it all the time – humans use it all the time. As Derek unzipped his pants, he chased away the thought that he wasn't feeling very drunk at all.

Parrish lifted his ass off the bed as Derek dragged his pants and boxers down his hips and over his thighs, finally exposing his hot cock to the cool air in the room. Parrish moaned as Derek spread his knees and settled between them.

Derek cocked an eyebrow at him. “You like having your legs open?”

“Yeah,” Parrish said, “but you have way more clothes on. That's not fair.”

Derek leaned over him, covering his naked body, and kissed him. Parrish took advantage of the situation by pressing himself shamelessly up into him. “You gonna behave or should I read you your rights?” Derek asked as he settled between his legs again.

“Oh please read me my rights,” Parrish moaned as Derek cupped his balls and massaged them in his big hand.

“You have the right to make these dirty little noises.”

“Ah...” Parrish let out a whine as Derek squeezed the head of his cock and slowly started jerking him off. “Derek, please...”

“You have the right to beg.”

Parrish felt his cock get swollen and slippery in Derek's palm. When Derek leaned down to graze the underside of it with one long sensual kiss, Parrish gasped, “Oh my god...”

“You have the right to call me god,” Derek said playfully before he swallowed his cock.

Parrish grabbed the bed sheets tight in his hands and arched his back. Derek's mouth felt amazing. It was wet and hot, and Derek's tongue moved softly but deliberately over the head of his cock as he swallowed it over and over again.

“Oh my god, Derek...” Parrish moaned. He was distantly aware of the wet vodka spot clutched in his right hand, but that excuse was long gone. It was clear that all he wanted was Derek – as much and as often as possible. Derek gently stroked his hips and thighs as he sucked him off, and it made Parrish feel safe and free to let go and enjoy Derek as much as he’d like. Every time he felt Derek's stubble scratch against his thighs and balls, it made him want to come. There was a thin sheen of sweat all over his body. He was holding back, wanting to make this last as long as possible, but his thighs were shaking, and he knew Derek could feel it under his fingers.

 “Derek,” Parrish gasped as his whole body tensed, “I’m gonna come.” Derek closed his lips tight around his cock. It felt hard and strained against his tongue.

“Ah!” Parrish threw his head back. His hips shook as he came, and Derek could barely hold him down. He clutched desperately at the bed sheets, which suddenly erupted into flames.

“Shit!” Parrish yelled and jumped back from the fire under his right hand.

Derek grabbed a pillow and pressed it into the flame. When he pulled the pillow back up, the fire was quenched, and a burnt spot was left behind. He knelt on the edge of the bed, staring in disbelief at Parrish.

Parrish sat naked on the other side of the bed, shaken from the both the shock of the fire and his orgasm.

“Did you know you could do that?” Derek demanded.

Parrish stared at the burn spot. “Set your bed on fire? Yeah, I was pretty confident going in, but I gotta admit, I exceeded my own expectations.”

Derek sighed and crawled to him on the bed. He took his face in his hands. When Parrish finally looked up at him, he asked, “Are you OK?”

Parrish nodded. Derek kissed his cheek, but Parrish pushed him back. “What if I do it again?”

Derek sat back, but he kept his fingers in Parrish’s hair. “That spot was where I spilled the vodka earlier. Your other hand didn’t catch fire, so as long as we keep you away from flammable things, everything will be alright.”

Parrish looked down at his hands. They looked normal. When he gave a small nod, Derek leaned back in and kissed him sensually. Parrish could taste himself on his tongue.

Derek pulled away and whispered, “We’ll just have to be extra careful every time you come.”

Parrish raised his eyebrows. “Every…”

\--

Stiles sat at his computer in the dark. The light from the screen illuminated his fingertips tapping impatiently on the desk. His feet were propped up, and he balanced on the chair's back legs. The cursor blinked in the search bar on the screen. “What are you?” He mused quietly and righted the chair onto the floor. He typed “Deputy Parrish” into the search and hit enter. He scrolled through: this arrest, that arrest, diffused bomb here, diffused bomb there.

Stiles scrolled back up to the top of the page and deleted his query. He mouthed the words “Jordan Parrish” as he typed them. He scrolled: more police entries, robbery, cat in a tree. The next result made him pause. It was a small article from the Daily Beacon Hills, like many of the others, but this one was dated a decade prior.

“Not so new to these parts after all, are ya'?” Stiles whispered as he clicked the link. There was a small photograph of a beat-up Parrish in his hospital bed. He had a bandage wrapped around his head and another plastered to his cheek, but there was no doubt that was the guy.

“A medical miracle,” the article claimed. “A young man, Jordan Parrish, 20 years old...”

“You're thirty?!” Stiles demanded of the computer screen.

He shook it off and continued reading. Jordan Parrish was not a Beacon Hills resident, but he was on his way through town when he got into a car accident. He was rushed to Beacon Hills Memorial where, despite the emergency staff's best efforts, he was pronounced dead on arrival.

“You're dead?!” Stiles cried out. His heart was in his throat.

Suddenly, for no discernible reason, Jordan Parrish revived. He lived, he was in stable condition last the author heard.

Stiles stared at the screen. He reread the article. Several things, besides the obvious, bothered him about it, and he couldn't quite place them all. Why didn't Parrish ever mention this? How is he thirty years old? He looks just as much a twenty year-old now as he does in the article's photo. Was he always somehow invincible, his whole life?

And there was something else... there was the date it happened. Stiles had a feeling about it – a weird, bad feeling. He scrolled back up and clicked the date to access the other articles printed that day.

_Tragic House Fire Kills Eight_


	3. Hot

Derek laid back against a pillow as Parrish straddled his hips. It was the middle of the night, and the crescent moon softly lit their movements. Parrish bit his lip as he lowered himself onto Derek's cock. Derek moaned and ran his fingers over his thighs while he watched him.

They only slept for an hour the whole night. They spent the rest of the time touching, teasing, making love, making each other come, and kissing through the periods when they exhausted themselves. The bed hadn't caught fire again, but there were sparks. Parrish didn't notice them, but Derek did. They appeared in Parrish's throat when he took a gasp of air, in his stomach when he felt especially good, or under his skin where Derek touched him.

“You feel so good,” Parrish sighed as he impaled himself completely on Derek's cock. He leaned his head back and really let himself appreciate the fullness of it. He moaned as he started slowly fucking himself on it.

Derek ran his palms over Parrish's hips and thighs, steadying him as he started moving faster. Parrish was sweating, his tired muscles shook from holding himself up, and he shivered under Derek's touch. He leaned forward to steady himself against Derek's chest as he fucked him hard, and he moaned at the change of angle. Derek reached between them and rubbed his thumb over the head of his hard cock, pressing a fingertip into its wet slit.

“Ah!” Parrish gasped when Derek started jerking him off, and Derek leaned up to kiss him hard.

Parrish eagerly returned the kiss, and when Derek pulled back, he righted himself again so his back was straight. He started moving faster. His head leaned back, and his eyes were closed, as if he were trying to take in every feeling. Derek jerked him off slower but squeezed tighter.

“Derek...” Parrish sighed. His whole body trembled as he came over Derek's hand, and his ass clenched hard around his cock.

Derek watched the spark shine through in Parrish's chest: a glow that started in his stomach and shot up to his heart. He took a shaky breath and let himself go, grasping Parrish's legs as he came inside of him.

Parrish lifted himself up, but his arms and legs were trembling. Derek quickly wiped his hand on the sheets and wrapped his arms around him to lie him down on the bed. “You're amazing,” he whispered.

Parrish smirked at him. “I told you.”

“I know,” Derek laughed, “multiple times.” He grabbed the covers and dragged them over their naked bodies.

Parrish rested his head against Derek's shoulder and fell asleep quickly. He was tired from his long night with Derek, from the stressful day of realizing his life is never going to be the same, and not to mention the previous night of being burned alive... but there was something else, too. There was a profound exhaustion tugging at his muscles, pulling him to sleep. He didn't relax and fall asleep peacefully – he was taken. As he lost awareness of Derek's body around him, he found himself facing a deep powerful flame, screams of pain and fear filling his ears. He weakly clutched at Derek's hand in a call for help, but as his heavy eyelids fell, he knew he had surrendered.

 

Somewhere in the other room, Derek's cell phone vibrated against a hard surface: 4 text messages from Stiles.

 

Derek squinted against the sun as he watched Parrish approach the bed with a glass of water. “You're wearing clothes and I have a headache,” he groaned. “This is a terrible morning.”

“Hydrate,” Parrish said as he handed him the glass.

Derek swung his legs over the side of the bed, dragging the sheets around his waist with him. He ran his fingers through his messy hair and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “OK,” he surrendered as he took the water, but he hooked his other thumb in Parrish's belt and snaked his fingers under his shirt.

“I have to go to work,” Parrish said, but he didn't move away.

Derek stared at him over the rim of the glass. He swallowed a gulp of water and said, “I'll write you a note.”

Parrish read the imaginary note. “Dear Sheriff, please excuse Jordan from work today. He has to help me with important supernatural stuff.”

“Deputy Parrish,” Derek corrected and chugged down the rest of his water.

Parrish laughed and climbed into Derek's lap, hanging his arms over his shoulders.

Derek let the empty glass roll back onto the bed and wrapped his arms around him. He dug his fingers into his hair and kissed his neck.

“Derek...” Parrish sighed, but his muscles were tense. “I dreamed about you last night.”

Derek kissed his jaw. “You should've just stayed awake then.”

“I wish I had.”

Derek detected the strain in his voice, and he pulled away to look at him. “What did you dream?”

“More like a nightmare really...”

“OK?”

Parrish hesitated. His eyes flickered away from Derek's and he confessed, “About your family...”

Derek raised his eyebrows at him. “My family?”

“About the fire.”

Derek gave him a long look, assessing the deep sadness in his eyes. He leaned up and kissed his cheek. "You've been reading my file, you know my history," he said soothingly. "You almost died in a fire. Put two-and-two together, it's not surprising you're having dreams like that."

Parrish didn't want to say too much, didn't want to tell him how vivid the nightmare was, how real and detailed, in fear of reminding Derek of the pain of losing his family.

"Don't worry," Derek said as he placed a long kiss on his neck.

Parrish wasn't worried. He felt something else altogether. As Derek pressed their bodies closer and kissed along his jaw, Parrish felt an overwhelming sense of empathy toward him. How painful and lonely it must have been for Derek to lose his family that way. How strong he had to be long before he was really capable of it. How unfair.

Derek ran his hands softly underneath his shirt, stretching his neck up to pull him into a demanding kiss.

Parrish kissed back, deeply, but the more he touched Derek, the more the sense of injustice grew in the pit of his stomach. Just as it threatened to turn into anger, Parrish pulled back from the kiss and said, "Lie back."

Derek raised his eyebrows in interest and scooted up the bed, dropping onto his back. The sheet was still wrapped around his waist, but the outline of his hard cock was obvious through the thin fabric.

Parrish ran his hand over it, teasing him through the sheet.

"Dear Sheriff..." Derek started.

Parrish smiled and winked at him. He pushed the sheet to the side and licked one thick stripe over the length of Derek's cock.

Derek sighed, his eyes falling closed, and dropped his head back against the bed.

Parrish slowly took him into his mouth, wanting more than ever to make him feel good. He worked his tongue over the tip and used his hand to jerk him where his mouth couldn't reach.

Derek's ass started squirming against the bed, wanting more.

Parrish swallowed him as far down as he could.

“Fuck.” Derek bit his lip, trying to keep his hips from bucking.

Parrish suddenly reached under his ass and pushed him up hard into his mouth.

“Oh fuck!” Derek let out a strangled groan, half from pleasure and half from surprise. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to watch. Seeing Parrish holding him up off the bed while taking his cock all the way down his throat pushed him to the edge. “I'm gonna--- fuck. Jordan. I'm gonna come.”

Parrish sucked him hard, but it was the soothing hand he placed flat over Derek's inner thigh that pushed him over the edge.

Derek's body tensed as he came, gasping, his legs shaking.

Parrish swallowed and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He placed small sensual kisses on Derek's hips as he waited for him to recover.

Derek was spent. He laid there panting softly, covered in a sheen of sweat, his head swimming.

Parrish was enjoying the view of his naked body laid out under him, exhausted. He gently pulled on Derek's ass, spreading him open. “I really feel like eating you out right now, but I don't think you'll make it.” His lips caressed Derek's stomach as he spoke.

“I figured it out,” Derek mumbled. “You're an angel.”

Parrish laughed and crawled up the bed to lie down next to him. Reminded of the original purpose of his visit, he pulled on the bandage on his arm, revealing the spot where Derek cut him. His skin was healed, only traces of dried blood left in the wake of the cut. He held it up for Derek to see. "What does that mean?"

"Means you might be more special than I thought," Derek teased, turning onto his side to face him.

Parrish smiled at him, but he was returning to reality. “Derek...”

"And that you get to go on more field trips with me."

"Lucky me." Parrish winked at him, but there was hesitation in his voice, dissatisfaction with the answers he was getting.

Derek sat up to give him some space. "What it means," he said, "is that you survived the fire not because of some voodoo magic that protected you, not because maybe someone else did you a favor, or because you're impervious to fire somehow. You survived because you healed, and you healed because you're not human."

Parrish looked up at him. He felt really vulnerable.

"To tell you the truth, I suspected that when you set my bed on fire, but at least now we know for sure."

Parrish offered him a small smile for the humor, but he wasn't feeling fun.

Derek raised his eyebrows at him as he leaned back on his hands. "What are you thinking?"

"What if it's something bad?"

"Something bad?"

"What if I do something bad?"

"You couldn't do something bad if your life depended on it."

“I get really angry sometimes and..."

"Jordan..."

"When I got out of the fire, I walked straight to the station, and the entire time I was furious. All I felt was anger, and when I found him I couldn't stop punching him."

"OK, he obviously deserved it."

Parrish sighed. He wasn't convinced.

"I would have ripped his face off. You were very nice."

"I didn't feel nice. I felt angry."

"He set you on fire!"

Parrish hesitated, "I wasn't in control."

Derek's expression softened. He understood that sentiment. "We all have to learn control. Scott had to learn it, I had to learn it. You'll learn it."

Parrish nodded reluctantly.

“Why did you become a cop?” Derek asked.

Parrish looked up at him, puzzled, and sat up in bed. “What do you mean?”

“Well, why?”

“I, um,” Parrish took a deep breath. “I wanted to help innocent people find justice.”

Derek gave him a small smile and kissed him. “There you go.”


End file.
